


A Demonic Distraction

by magpiespirit



Series: Partners in Time [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Makes a Name for Himself in Hell, Aziraphale Noticeably Misses Crowley, Aziraphale is Terrifying, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), Gen, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Oops, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpiespirit/pseuds/magpiespirit
Summary: All Aziraphale wants to do is have a drink. A couple of demons try his patience, with amusing results. Well, amusing to some. Well, amusing to one. Aziraphale. Aziraphale finds it amusing.(This can stand alone, or come next in the series.)
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Original Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Partners in Time [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505432
Comments: 13
Kudos: 142





	A Demonic Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read _A Tender Little Thought,_ this is Aziraphale's side of Shkithra's story in the prologue. If you haven't, here's what you need to know: this takes place at approximately 350 AD and Crowley has been discorporated. Pinney is a lust demon who, long ago when Aziraphale was wearing a different body, caught Crowley and Aziraphale in an intimate moment, assumed Crowley had captured an angel, and suggested Crowley give Aziraphale to the Lust department as a toy, prompting Aziraphale to alter his memories and discorporate him rather than allow Crowley to be caught consorting with the enemy. Aziraphale does not like this demon, for suggesting Crowley turn him over to be violated by demons and because Aziraphale doesn't like doing mind stuff, and has had other run-ins with him. Shkithra is a junior tempter and has been with Hell for like a month.
> 
> Aziraphale is terrifying in this, but only insofar as he acts like an angel thwarting evil demons rather than Aziraphale dancing with Crowley.

It wasn’t the best wine he’d ever had, but it wasn’t the worst, either. It was drinkable, anyway, which meant he didn’t have to expend a miracle making it so. With drinkable wine and a slow work month, Aziraphale should have been perfectly satisfied, but he was bored. And, if he were fully honest with himself, a bit lonely. That wasn’t new, but it _was_ contributing to his overall dissatisfaction.

Anyway, even work was different without Crowley around. At least before, Crowley had been _around,_ even if he hadn’t been _talking to_ Aziraphale, but it’d been 30 years since the demon had last been on Earth, and these junior tempters were just _not_ in the same class. They were inelegant, crude, drew _far_ too much attention to themselves...honestly, he was doing them a _favor_ by discorporating them so quickly. They were just advertising to humans that they were there for nefarious purposes. Thankfully, he’d spent a whole month entirely unbothered by them—

—or not.

He sighed as he felt demonic auras (two, he thought, but demons who weren’t Crowley tended to be harder to read) close in on the cheery square in which Aziraphale had settled with his wine and a nut treat. How irritating. Instead of spending an idle off-day doing small blessings and lifting humans’ spirits, he had to deal with _demons who weren’t his._

Withdrawing his own aura from the vicinity and tucking it away inside himself, he stood, patted his thighs free of (imaginary) crumbs — a darling human thing he couldn’t help but mimic — and began to follow the auras. One was sick and slimy, a repulsive feeling he thought he ought to recognize, and one was small, dark, and...soft? Malleable, at any rate. The demon in question was probably another newbie, possibly apprenticing under a more experienced professional, and the newbie had likely not settled into their own niche. It was unfortunate that more demons didn’t apprentice under Crowley. The juniors were...well. They were so many of them cute, all things considered, and in their malleable states, guidance from such a sterling example as Crowley would be good for humans.

(Inconvenient for Heaven, yes, but that wasn’t the point. The humans were the point.)

The angel kept to the shadows without making it terribly obvious and refused to think of the term “stalking.” Angels didn’t stalk. They glided ethereally — through the shadows on occasion, for efficiency’s sake — and got where they needed to go with quiet Grace. If any demons nearby happened to be...startled or upset...well, it wasn’t the angels’ problem that they were especially good at gliding ethereally, or that demons weren’t exceptionally aware of their surroundings at all times. It could happen to anyone. Angels didn’t scare their temporary adversaries for fun, and they certainly didn’t do it because they were annoyed that their temporary adversaries weren’t the _right_ demons—

No, Aziraphale simply needed to get from point A to point B. Quietly. So as not to alert the humans to any problems, of course.

One turn around the square revealed nothing, but once Aziraphale peered around a corner into a narrow little entryway, he saw the two demons in question, and realized why the sick aura had felt so familiar. Eurgh. This one was becoming a real thorn in his side, for reasons that were less fun than the ones Crowley had.

Pinney, a demon from the Lust department, had a new incorporation, something almost-but-not-quite androgynous. The taste of his aura was still unquestionably male — though how that worked among demons, Aziraphale wasn’t sure; among angels, gender was usually an elective accoutrement rather than a core quality, but Crowley seemed to be a fan of performative gender — but he had a certain effeminate slant of his hips and narrow shoulders _designed_ for dislocation. His deep brown hair was shoulder-length, braided in a style foreign to the region, his skin was a sort of light brownish-olive combination that (probably deliberately) would make his region of origin difficult to place, and his storm-grey eyes were by a certain human standard appealing enough, the angel supposed. He was supposed to be attractive to as many humans as possible, but Aziraphale couldn’t get past the aura, which was bitter red in his mouth and slimed all the way through him.

The other demon was taller than Pinney, but only just. They didn’t seem to be a Lust demon at all; there was hardly anything noteworthy about them, aside from their bright, wide brown eyes, so bright and wide they hardly belonged on a demon. They leaned against the wall beside Pinney, looking around nervously, as the lust demon leaned forward and explained, “...and sometimes it’s a numbers game, but the point is to get them to fuck. Doesn’t really matter how we do it. This one’ll be difficult for you, seeing as she’s surrounded by guards, but together we can probably make them think it’s a good idea to join in — you follow?”

The junior demon gaped at Pinney. 

More specifically, they gaped at _Aziraphale._

Usually, the angel would be wary of a two-on-one situation. He wasn’t excited to be discorporated by a demon, after all; his associates got so unbearably _smug_ about it when he got caught, and the process to be issued a new body was so _tedious;_ but he had to protect this woman, whoever she was, from the implications of Pinney’s plan. Furthermore, he had some tricks up his sleeve that should make it a quick confrontation, hardly even a fight. Upon hearing the word _fuck,_ Aziraphale had written a sigil on his own hand in wet ink, so that by the time Pinney was done talking, he could appear “suddenly” and clap his hand on Pinney’s neck.

“Hello, friends,” he said pleasantly, transferring the ink onto Pinney’s neck with one hand, moving that hand to Pinney’s shoulder, and placing his other hand on the wide-eyed demon’s shoulder. He smiled with all of his teeth. “What luck, our being in the same square today! Why, I could have missed you!”

The ward was a simple one. It didn’t modify thought or anything invasive like that; instead, it neutralized Pinney’s _physical_ ability to resist direction. It was easy to pick apart once absorbed, but it only needed to be in effect long enough for Aziraphale to guide both demons into a more isolated place and deal with them as an angel should. If Aziraphale were lucky, Pinney would be too absorbed in picking apart the ward to notice the other preparations the angel had made, and he might even get away with imparting a little angelic advice to the junior demon.

(Technically, he was supposed to use the power of God to protect his humans from demonic violence. Seeing as She had invented all things, She surely wouldn’t have a problem with using the power of numbers, sigils, the Earth, and Aziraphale at his most irritated.) 

“Aziraphael,” Pinney hissed, mispronouncing the angel’s name. He tried to shake off the angel’s hand, and looked annoyed when he couldn’t. The other demon, poor thing, froze up and looked _terrified._ What had Crowley gone and _said_ about him in Hell? “Of _course_ you’re here.”

“Always a pleasure discorporating you, Pinney. Do be a dear and stay close, won’t you? I’d like to get to know your young apprentice. I’m the Principality Aziraphale,” said Aziraphale, who was probably enjoying Pinney’s discomfort a little too much to be angelic. In his defense, the offense was funny. The other demon’s face looked like someone had slapped it one too many times. Oh, dear. “What’s your name, then?”

“M-my, I, I have.”

“Please speak up, my dear.”

“Shkithra — I’m Shkithra,” said the junior demon with a bright, absolutely adorable flush. Their aura surged forward, much like a human’s might, seeking out Aziraphale. The poor creature probably didn’t even know what they were doing.

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake,”_ muttered Pinney. As Aziraphale directed the demons out of the populated area, he squeezed the lust demon’s shoulder harder and did not change his pleasant expression when he heard a wet pop, although Shkithra gagged a little (the uncomfortable prodding of the aura unfortunately did not subside) and Pinney made a noise not unlike that of a territorial fox on a nighttime territorial fox-ing spree: all screamy and not even a little supernatural. Thank goodness the humans in the area miraculously had other things to worry about.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Shkithra,” the angel told the junior demon, hoping to distract them from the fact that he was steering the duo away from their original target. Pinney wouldn’t be held by the ward for long, and Aziraphale didn’t have time to write a stronger one. “Shame you have to work with _this_ waste of space, though. I can’t imagine you’re learning much about human nature.”

“I’m learning lots,” Shkithra answered dutifully, and also doubtfully, as Pinney made a vague whimpering noise of either protest or pain at the sharp dig of the angel’s nails into his skin.

Aziraphale winked at them. “Ah, so this one’s already taught you about the nuances involved in sin? The political traps to avoid? You know how to procure consent and avoid violence? Oh, but I’m certain you can learn it all even if Pinney’s neglected to teach you — you seem like a bright young demon. I have a knack for knowing that sort of thing. You’re a special one, aren’t you?”

“N-not particularly, Sir.” Shkithra blinked their pretty eyes several times. “I mean. I’m just as wicked as anyone. Moreso, even! A real proper demon and everything!”

“Stop. Talking,” Pinney managed to wheeze, so Aziraphale reached around and popped his other shoulder for good measure. The resultant vixen-like scream curled in his core, warm and cheery. It was so nice when bad people got what they deserved.

They were far enough away from the city center that Aziraphale could banish these two without scaring any humans or drawing any unwanted attention, so he stopped and — with a careful swipe of his foot — finished a symbol deep in the dirt that would activate a Retribution Binding. These days, Aziraphale almost always had pre-prepared spaces for occasions like this when he stopped in larger cities; it was easier to activate a binding ritual than it was to perform one from scratch, after all, and banishing Pinney would take a miracle of significant value if he wanted to impress upon Shkithra the importance of _not bothering Aziraphale ever again._

“You know,” he said conspiratorially, shoving Pinney roughly to the ground and grinning at the little shriek when the demon hit the dirt and couldn’t brace himself with either arm. Another _crack_ sounded as Pinney’s knee twisted all by itself; clearly his incorporation was rebelling, as Pinney once had. Nothing to do with Aziraphale’s burning desire to see him _wasted,_ nor with the nature of the binding circle. “As an angel, I can’t condone what you do professionally, but from a purely neutral standpoint as one influencer of humans to another, you really ought to have spoken to Crowley instead of some Lusty idiot. This one’s violent methodology sends more souls to Heaven than to Hell, but Crowley gives me trouble _constantly;_ he knows to be _careful_ with our precious charges. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of him — he’s the best tempter in Hell _by far,_ and _so_ clever — say, do you know where he’s gone?”

Shkithra’s face darkened and their fists clenched. At a rush, they pouted, “What’s so special about _Crawly,_ huh? He’s just a stupid _snake,_ not even a Duke or anything, he’s — I’m — you should…!”

Well, clearly Aziraphale had miscalculated _somewhere._ He didn’t think he’d said anything strange; he’d only asked after the demon he loved, but it wasn’t as though Shkithra would _know_ that. Demons couldn’t sense love like angels could; Crowley (or Crawly? Was he going by Crawly again? He’d have to remember that) had told him so. Shkithra manifested a short spear tipped with purple flames and rushed at Aziraphale, who stepped to the side with too much ease (honestly, who was _teaching_ these juniors? Blind mice?) and stole the spear right from Shkithra’s hands. 

He cracked the spear over his thigh, to make a point, and gently shoved Shkithra toward Pinney, who was still collapsed in the dirt. Being a lump on the ground didn’t stop Pinney from weakly wriggling at his own apprentice, though, and in a pained wheeze, he said, “You _idiot,_ get — heurgh — _get_ back up!”

“You are a pathetic excuse for a mentor,” Aziraphale said sharply, pulling down a fraction of the power he’d once used to discorporate Crowley — no, Crawly — centuries ago, in a fight that had taught them both about limits and values. He had since run the figures and perfected the miracle. Especially inside a holding circle like this, lightning didn’t need to be a big ordeal; it could be a precision strike with almost no damage to the surrounding area instead of the great blinding mess he’d made by the river with Crawly. The stupid puffy clothes on Pinney lit up so nicely that Aziraphale didn’t even mind the rasp in his wet scream, and Shkithra shook so badly that at first, Aziraphale worried that he’d miscalculated _again._

But no — the junior was just scared. Good. They needed to understand the dangers of both working with a sleaze like Pinney, and annoying Aziraphale on his day off. 

“As for you,” he said, remotely deactivating all of the demon’s pain receptors and most of their other systems before he used a strong breath to redirect and amplify the fire from Pinney’s clothing. (No use performing two large miracles when he could simply use the aftermath of the lightning strike to take care of the Shkithra problem. It would look nice and efficient in his report; Gabriel loved this kind of tidy strategizing.) The deadening of Shkithra’s nerves was not a kindness; he needed the demon to listen to him, and they couldn’t do that if they were in pain. Besides, without being able to feel or function very much, they couldn’t move, either. “I want you to understand that you’re not being punished for working with Pinney; I know you don’t get to choose your assignments. Discorporation is a hazard of the job. This is the consequence for irritating me, and more importantly, for _causing harm_ to my humans. I expect you to remember this going forward, Shkithra. Don’t become stupid when you gain power, and we may never have to have this conversation again.”

Shkithra wasn’t able to answer, of course. Since Aziraphale had nothing more to say, he strode up to the quivering demon, snuffed the fire, and broke their neck in one swift, easy movement. Hopefully, the lessons would stick — and hopefully, they would seek out Crawly for advice. All things considered, the side of Heaven probably had a net gain.

How nice: it may have been accidental, but the two interrupting demons had managed to do him some good after all. He couldn’t wait to get rid of the bodies so he could go back to the square and finish his wine.

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't help myself.


End file.
